


Incision

by finesharp



Series: Incision [4]
Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finesharp/pseuds/finesharp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stop that," I snapped without thinking, slapping the hand so that the scalpel fell back onto the tray. I paused, then, looking at the angry sneer on his face and the hand going for the scalpel again, more purposeful this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incision

It was only my first month at GeneCo, you have to understand. I was still fresh out of my residency and nervous when heading my own surgical team. I wanted everything to be perfect. I know it can't be perfect every time, but I wanted my first time to be special. This was GeneCo; I had to make a good first impression.

I went over the tray of tools one more time, only to find one of the scalpels missing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it just as I began to panic. Someone was playing with it - with bare hands!

"Stop that," I snapped without thinking, slapping the hand so that the scalpel fell back onto the tray. I paused, then, looking at the angry sneer on his face and the hand going for the scalpel again, more purposeful this time.

Let me explain. It's one thing to see people on the vid screens and another thing to see them in real life. Rotti Largo gave the commencement address at my university, and it felt so strange to be watching him with my own eyes, with no transmitters between us - like reality colliding with a television show. And that had been at a distance where I could hardly see him.

So yes, it took me a few moments to recognize that the young man who'd wandered into my surgery and started touching the sterile tools.

"Sorry, Mr. Largo," I mumbled, hoping I wasn't flinching away from the scalpel in his hand too much. I resigned myself to spending my first couple of paychecks on whatever repairs I'd need; I'd heard the rumors about him since I started here. That was first day of training, basic information: stay out of Luigi Largo's way. (The second was never to stand between Pavi and a mirror, and the third was that you wanted to avoid babysitting Carmela at all costs.)

"You fucking should be," he snapped at me. He advanced with the scalpel and I braced for it. Might as well get it over with.

The blade of the scalpel only sunk about half an inch into my chest, in an area where he wouldn't hit anything vital. He pulled it out and threw it across the room.

"Those things aren't any fucking fun," he grumbled.

Unsure how I should react, I hesitated for a minute, then undid my surgical gown and shirt so I could dress the wound. He continued griping for a minute, then stopped and watched me as I stitched the small wound. It only took a few loops of thread to hold the wound shut.

"That one looks pretty fucking nasty," he said, pointing to a scalpel with a longer blade.

"You'd certainly have better penetration with it," I told him as I dug in the closet for a fresh shirt and surgical gown, "though none of them are designed for the sort of use you seem to favor." The situation had combined with my nerves about the surgery to create the sense of professional dissociation I usually didn't get until I was working inside the patient's body, blood staining my gloves.

I waited, unconcerned, to see if he'd stab me again, but the anger on his face had softened into confusion. When he didn't attack me, I started picking out new, sterile tools to replace the ones he'd handled.

"Did you want anything else, sir? I'm due to start this surgery now," I told him as I rolled the cart full of tools toward the operating theater.

"That's the part my pop's paying you for, better get to it," he said, gesturing toward the door. I went, turning my back on him as I did so.

Out in the operating theater, I was acutely aware of the audience - both the people sitting in the seats raised around me and the cameras. I wasn't sure which of GeneCo's programs the cameras were for. For all I knew, they just filmed everything and cut it down for whatever they needed. It didn't matter, though.

Once that scalpel slid into the patient's midsection, I could have been in the middle of a rugby match or a riot for all I paid attention to my surroundings. It was just me and the blood and the organs, and that was the way I liked it. My mind quieted back down. It was almost like meditation, the focus that my work required and yet the way my hands slid between tissues like they were fish, swimming under their own control.

I first discovered the feeling when I was twelve, back when it was still chaotic and organ failure was still as likely to mean death as not. I watched my little sister die in front of me, coughing up blood, and instead of running for help I just stood there. I didn't feel anything at all, just watched the patterns of red polka dots that each spasm brought up and spread across her yellow dress.

I heard my mother screaming, first my sister's name and then mine. She ran to us and picked up my sister, so close to hysterics that she could barely carry her into the house.

During the funeral she broke down, and I heard the neighbor from across the street telling my mom's sister about how I'd stood there.

"What's wrong with you?" my aunt asked me.

I didn't answer. I couldn't, since I had no idea what I was doing, why I'd frozen up like that. It happened again and again, though, whenever there was blood and death, when everyone around me was losing their heads and their kidneys, I found this sudden, perfect clarity.

After the mandatory first aid classes in school, I found myself reacting during these moments. Suddenly nothing was wrong with me - I was a quick thinker. I liked that. As GeneCo's business model propagated, fewer people dropped dead in the streets and I started thinking about finishing my schooling.

Medical school seemed like the obvious choice.

The calm I felt in the operating room or the ER was even deeper than I felt as a child. I could step back from my body and let something else control everything.

It was beautiful.

Except that day, I was more than half done - was almost done attaching the new liver, in fact - when I happened to notice him up in the theater. He wasn't hard to pick out, sitting next to his father and a woman with the women who guarded them standing behind. They stood out in the field of white, black and red GENtern and surGEN uniforms.

In my usual clear detachment, I could take in many more details than I normally would. One of those details was the look on Luigi's face. He looked like - well, I'd seen that look on desperate frat boys in bars during university. That was lust, and it was aimed at me, elbow-deep in organs.

It surprised me enough to destroy my concentration and my calm. I finished the surgery in a rush, trying not to look up any higher than the patient's toes, whispering to myself feverishly to slow down, not screw it up.

"Nerves, eh?" one of the GENterns said as I finished stitching him up. "Don't worry, it's normal your first time."

"Not for me," I muttered, dropping my gloves in the bowl and storming out of the theater, not slowing until I reached the locker room.

I didn't realize I was hoping he'd be there waiting until I felt disappointed that he wasn't. Jesus, what was I thinking? This was Luigi _Largo_. Putting aside the fact that he'd stabbed me only a few hours ago, he was the boss's son. There was no way in which even thinking about him sounded like a good idea, absolutely none. And it was probably a non-issue anyway. Surely he had more attractive things to hit on, or to hit, or whatever he preferred.

Logic didn't quite dissipate my disappointment, but it calmed it down and let me put it away so I didn't have to think about it. I changed, thinking about the surgery itself. Even though I'd lost my center, I'd still been able to finish, which was a relief; I'd worried about that happening before.

The real question, the one I had let myself get distracted from, was why the CEO of GeneCo was there in the first place. I couldn't imagine he had enough free time to stop by every surgery that was performed, or even every new surGEN's first job, but the idea that he'd singled me out for something seemed ridiculous.

I put that thought away too. His presence was either very good or very bad, but there was no point in dwelling on it. GeneCo was not the sort of company that kept you in the dark when they wanted something. I shut my locker and threw the surgical clothes in the laundry bin, ready to go back to my small apartment.

And then, just to kick me in the shins, he was waiting in the hallway.

"Mr. Largo, sir," I said, hoping I wasn't shaking.

"Nathan, right?" he questioned, and I nodded. "I asked." He seemed very proud of that.

"That's nice..." I said, trying to edge my way around him.

He reached out, grabbing my lapel and holding me in place. "You should be honored. It's not often I give a fuck."

"Of course." I hoped it was the right answer.

"Any plans for tonight?"

"No, not exactly."

"You're coming up to my place," he said, and as he half-dragged me to the elevator I realized he meant the apartments that the Largos lived in upstairs.

He continued talking during the elevator ride, but I wasn't really listening - it was some rant about the cleaning crew and how he was personally offended by the footprints on the shiny metal doors. I didn't tell him that some of the newbies did it because they liked watching him yell. (From a distance, obviously. I'd always considered it a bit too much like baiting a tiger, but somehow I was the one about to walk into the tiger's lair.)

A pair of guards were waiting when the elevator doors opened. They pointed their guns at me before Luigi waved them off and started walking. Unlike the other parts of the building I'd seen - strictly business areas, reminding me either of offices or hospitals I'd been in before - this hall was very plush, as were the few rooms I could glance into through open doors, but they looked lived in.

The situation was bizarre enough that I found myself on the edge of stepping back again - I wasn't quite watching my body follow him of its own accord, but I didn't exactly feel like I was the one making the decisions, either.

As the hall opened up into a larger room, I was so busy looking at the art on the walls and the stained glass that I tripped over a pink scooter and nearly fell onto Luigi.

"Carmela!" he yelled. "Stop leaving your shit on the floor!"

"It's my floor too," a little girl's voice yelled back.

"Well, I've got company so don't fucking bug us!" He was loud enough on his own but combined with the high ceilings it was almost enough to give me a headache.

"Sit down," he ordered. "I'll get drinks."

I did as I was told, sitting delicately on a plush couch. All the furniture looked vaguely antique, and I was reminded of the formal living room in my old house, where Mom told me never to touch the chairs or sofa unless we had company, and even then I had to wash my hands and wear clean trousers. This furniture looked used, at least - a pair of princess dolls and a toy rabbit were in mid-tea party around an expensive-looking ottoman, and I noticed a lipstick stain on the arm of the couch I was sitting on.

"You're my brother's friend, right?" I hadn't noticed the young girl coming out of her room. Carmela looked very different wearing a shirt and jeans instead of the frilly, childish dresses I'd always seen her wear on television.

I nodded, not at all sure that 'friend' was the right word.

"Are you guys going to have sex?"

I blushed hotly enough to feel faint and she giggled. The sound cut off suddenly and her face got very serious. She was standing right in front of my knees, and seated I was almost eye-to-eye with her.

"If you hurt him, I'll never forgive you," she told me in a voice far too serious for a girl her age.

I forced myself to laugh. "I'm more worried about him hurting me," I told her honestly. I pressed my hand against my chest, feeling the stitches underneath. I'd been so distracted that I hadn't bothered to use anything more to fix it up.

"I'm not," she said.

Luigi came up behind her and handed me a glass, then tousled her hair. "What do you think of Nathan, Carma?"

She put on a very thoughtful face as she studied me for a long minute. "I don't think I like him."

"You don't like anyone who doesn't bring you fucking presents," he said, but he was smiling. "Go do some kid shit, okay?" She nodded and disappeared up the hall.

Luigi sprawled across the couch, obviously unconcerned about its condition, and I did my best to relax. I drank most of the alcohol in one fast gulp and then asked the question before my better judgement recovered.

"So, er, _are_ we going to have sex?"

"I haven't decided yet," he said, smirking. Clearly he thought I'd be lucking out if the answer was yes. I still wasn't sure what I wanted, and to make it worse I wasn't sure it mattered.

"Do you usually bring employees up here?" I asked. I was so far down the rabbit hole at this point there didn't seem to be any point in worrying about tact.

He laughed. "Not fucking likely, no."

"Then what?"

"You didn't even fucking flinch when I stabbed you! What the fuck was that?"

For an instant I felt like I was back at my sister's funeral. "Is it a problem?"

"Fuck no, it was hot."

I stared at him. "What?"

"It. Was. Fucking. Hot," he repeated, rolling his eyes.

"Why?" was all I could stammer.

"Because I'm sick of people fucking cowering from me all the time," he said, standing up and setting the glass on on the end table next to the sofa. "Come on, I hate fucking foreplay."

I blinked and stood, following him deeper into the personal residence. The farther in we went, the less formal it became. Peeking in one room, I saw lavender walls and a deep purple bedspread. I assumed it was Carmela's room until I saw her sitting in the next one, which was done in pink and baby blue, happily dancing in front of a huge audience of dolls.

Luigi's room sat at the end of the hall and realizing this was something of a relief. I'd been afraid that somehow his father would be nearby and hear us or, god forbid, walk in on us. It seemed unlikely he'd even be nearby, but doubt still lingered.

"Ah, where is- that is, am I likely to see your-"

"Pop?" he asked, interrupting me. "Nah, he's out with that broad he's been dating, he won't get home til late. We probably won't even see him."

That assurance was enough to calm me down as he pressed a finger to the lock and opened the door to his room. The lights came up automatically as he stepped inside. Like every other space in the house, the room was huge - probably larger than my entire apartment, though that wasn't saying very much. The walls were pale grey, aside from the far wall, which was nothing but the plate glass that made up the south face of the building. The furniture was black and steel, just as harsh as the young man who'd brought me here.

I walked over to the windowed wall. The entire island was spread out in front of me, with the sunset playing over the water and then the dark skyline of Los Angeles on the horizon.

"Hell of a view, huh?" Luigi asked. I watched his pale reflection in the window take off his suit jacket and hang it on the valet near his bed.

I squinted. "I think I can see my house from here." I felt dumb as soon as the words were out, but Luigi just laughed. I wasn't watching his reflection anymore, so it surprised me when his ascot dropped past my face and pulled tight around my neck.

"You can admire the view anytime," he said, pulling me away from it. "Come on."

Behind him, I saw the door hiss open. Carmela stormed in, followed by an older boy. Pavi, of all of them, I recognized instantly. He looked almost identical in person to the face he wore on the vids, slightly built and good-looking in a way that invited adjectives like beautiful, not handsome.

Luigi turned to them with a sigh. "Fuck, you guys, I'm busy."

"Make him leave me alone!" Carmela screamed.

"I will if-a you stay out-a of my makeup," he said. I'd never really noticed him having an accent before, but then I'd never paid a whole lot of attention to him - to any of them - on the screen.

"Carma, don't get in Pavi's shit, I don't want you thinking you can get into mine. Ask one of the GENterns for lipstick. And Pavi, don't play with fucking makeup, you're such a fag."

Pavi looked from Luigi to me and back again, smiling in a way too aware for a fourteen-year-old. "Of course, brother."

"Now both of you get the fuck out!" They went, Carmela pouting and Pavi smirking. Luigi smacked Pavi on the back of the head as they left. I just shook my head as he locked the door behind them.

Luigi turned back to me, almost smiling. "Alright, now where were we? About to fucking strip, right?"

"Just like that?"

"I told you, I fucking hate foreplay," he said, unsnapping his shirt and pulling it off.

"I'm not sure..." I said quietly. He was certainly not unpleasant to look at, but I still had some illusions of romance, another leftover from my mother.

"Not fucking sure? Why the fuck'd you come up here, then?"

"Because you dragged me by my lapels," I answered, knowing it wasn't a very good answer. I'd been almost eager when he'd led me, and I'd been more than eager before that, in the locker room.

Luigi sighed and sat on the bed with a huff. "You didn't stop me."

"Does anyone?"

He didn't realize it was a rhetorical question. "Nobody outside the family."

"Well then?"

"What the fuck do you want me to do, send flowers?"

"You could ask."

"Fine. Nice scalpel, wanna fuck?" He followed his own comment with his loud, barking laugh.

"Are you always this forward with women, too?"

Luigi shrugged. "Sometimes, yeah. Some chicks like it."

"But not all of them."

"The fuck does it matter? If some chick doesn't know what she's passing up, why the fuck should I care? Pavi's the one who wants the whole damn world to love him. I don't give a fuck about love."

I sat beside him on the bed, keeping a few inches between us. I didn't want to be too informal, still, though it seemed like a losing battle.

"So what are you interested in?" I asked him.

"A good fuck. You looked like you'd be into that, before. If you're not, fucking say it."

Almost despite myself, I knew that I wanted him. More than that, I wanted to see what he'd bring out of me.

"I am... interested, please don't misunderstand. I'm just not quite used to being so blunt about it. Most of us have to play at least a little of the game, sir."

"Luigi. If I'm going to fuck you, you're going to be yelling my name. Sir is my dad."

"Luigi, then." I awkwardly fingered the buttons on my shirt, slipping one, then two, out of their holes. "You said you liked the way I reacted when you stabbed me."

"Fuck yeah." Now that I was playing along, however hesitantly, he seemed to uncoil. His hands picked up where mine had left off, unbuttoning my shirt.

"I was, hm," I hesitated, looking for the words, "I had a very interesting reaction. I'd like to experience it again."

"I can live with that. I've probably only ever fucked one person who didn't have an agenda besides having a good time."

"Who was that?" I asked automatically.

His face darkened into a scowl and I regretted it almost immediately. "My... last girlfriend, Marissa. It ended in a huge clusterfuck."

I nodded. "Sorry, I didn't think-"

"I'm in favor of not fucking thinking," he said, and the angry look left his face but not his eyes. "So, a reaction, huh? Like a hard-on?" My shirt was open now and he went for the zipper on my trousers.

I shook my head. "Not quite." My voice shot up half an octave when he pushed the waistband of my underwear out of the way and grabbed my cock.

"Looks like you're on the way, at least," Luigi said with a smirk, leaning back.

"That wasn't what I meant," I protested, but it was useless. I was half-hard already, after all. He'd already moved on and I doubted he cared.

"You wanna pick?" he asked, opening a shallow drawer in his bureau. I stood up and stepped out of my pants, then followed him over and looking inside. If I'd thought about it I wouldn't have been surprised. The drawer was nearly full of knives - small folding knives, thin butterflies, large bowie knives, even one that looked like it should have been in the kitchen.

I stared at the collection until he coughed, getting my attention. "I've never done this before," I said honestly. "You pick."

"Fine by me," he said, picking out a medium-sized folding knife. He flipped the blade open with a move I barely saw, and the light of the sunset behind him was blood red. I suddenly felt very ridiculous standing there in my white underwear and socks.

For a minute I was afraid that I wouldn't get the feeling back again, that this would be for nothing, and that knife looked very sharp. Then Luigi was on me, knocking me back so that I landed on the bed. He knelt over me, one leg on either side of my torso, the knife's edge just brushing against the skin of my jaw.

Before I could panic, I felt it. I slipped backwards, as if I'd been shoved even further into the bed, and suddenly the narrow eyes and nervous fingers were nothing more than curiousities. At the same time, the blade slipped deeper, opening up a shallow cut on my chin.

Without an actual surgery to distract me, I could actually observe my own reaction. I felt the thin trickle of blood down my neck, and the chill that followed. I felt myself fully erect, my cock pressing against the fabric of my underwear and of Luigi's pants where he was crouched over me.

"Deeper," I whispered. He smiled and pushed the blade into my chest, drawing a deep line along my my muscles and splitting open the stitches from earlier. A second cut traced down my sternum all the way to my belly button, cutting into the muscle and nearly penetrating into the abdominal cavity.

I fell even further down, watching with disinterested curiousity as my arms reached up and grabbed Luigi by the shoulders. I pulled his head down close to mine, and the voice that came out felt like it had traveled a great distance.

"Deeper." This time it was a rasping growl, and Luigi's breath caught. He shifted his stance, sliding his trousers and boxers down and out of the way. He repositioned my legs and knelt between them, and he did all this with one arm because the knife never left my skin. He held it still, and my every breath pushed it further into my skin.

He sliced my tightly-stretched underwear off, leaving trails of blood over my hips.

"Still fucking breathing?" he asked as he massaged my cock with one hand and drove the knife with the other.

"Oh, I'm alive," said my voice, and I had the impression that it wasn't speaking about me at all. From this distance, Luigi's rough fingers on my skin felt like gentle touches. The knife was digging into the thick muscle near my left shoulder, and I felt something tearing beneath it. That was as much pleasure as it was pain, as was the moment when Luigi pressed his hard cock into me. I could only barely see what he was doing, but I didn't care. I just wanted to go deeper and deeper into this detachment.

My body struggled, and Luigi was forced to hold me down with one hand while he thrust, and yet I never felt the knife leave me. The blade's motion became more erratic with each thrust, and he was muttering something so quietly I couldn't hear.

Flailing, I felt myself trying to push him or pull him, I wasn't sure which, and in frustration he punched me in the jaw. My hips bucked hard and he grunted as he came. I could feel his hot semen on my skin and dripping onto the bed. The knife dropped away from his hand and he sank to his knees on the floor.

And then I snapped back into myself, just as I did after a surgery, and the pain hit me like a wall. I moaned and came, feeling like I was drowning in the sensory overload. My entire body hurt and my legs were shaking.

Pushing himself to his feet, Luigi staggered over to the intercom and pressed the call button. A cheerful female voice answered, and he asked for a couple of GENterns and a cleaning crew. I was too out of it to hear her answer. I was just waiting to pass out, wondering why it was taking so long. Surely I'd lost more than enough blood for that.

Luigi came back over to the bed, sitting nearby but careful to avoid the sticky mess. "You get whatever the fuck it was that you wanted?" he asked me. I nodded weakly, not trusting my voice.

"When you started fucking flailing I thought maybe you'd changed your mind."

"No. No, it was perfect," I murmured.

I felt him lean toward me, felt his fingertips run through my hair. "Next time, if you want, I'll send you the fucking flowers."

I tried to laugh, but I couldn't quite manage it. The GENterns arrived and set to work, starting with a shot of Zydrate that shot through my system and melted my nerves.

"Not necessary," I mumbled as they checked for serious damage and started stitching me up. "But dinner and a movie might be nice." He laughed so hard one of the GENterns jumped, and that was the last sound I heard before the blood loss and the Zydrate finally caught up with me.

I woke up in a recovery room. It might have even been one I'd seen patients in - it was hard to tell, since they went to such effort to make them look the same. A GENtern was telling me that if I got up right then, I'd have plenty of time to dress and be on the floor in time for my shift.

Experimentally, I sat up and twisted in the bed. My muscles were a little stiff, and a few of the cuts had healed into angry red scars due to the accellerant, but that was to be expected. I stumbled down the hall, only getting half-lost before I found my way into the locker room.

I opened my locker to a handful of roses with an acetate note hanging from them.

_Dinner. Friday. 7. And you'll fucking enjoy it._


End file.
